


Next To You

by Calon



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: #the thug life isn't all it's cut out to be, Again, Brotherly Love, Cause now I'm seeing double, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone regrets coffee eventually, Forgive Me, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, d'Artagnan is adorbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calon/pseuds/Calon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although Athos would never admit it, the Gascons uncharacteristic silence scared him. No, scratch that, it terrified him. He'd seen himself sink into this deafening inner silence before, after Thomos' murder he feared he'd ever regain the courage to speak again. And he could see the same conflict in the boys distant eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next To You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> Sorry I've been gone so long again! I'm not feeling too good at the moment... But I just had to give you a quick little something to read while I get my life back on track! I hope you like it! Please read, comment and review! It's always much appreciated!!!  
> All my love,  
> Calon.  
> xxx  
> (All mistakes are mine!)

**Next To You.**

d'Artagnan's eyes gazed emptily at the swirling grey sky looming menacingly above them, his eyes skirting lazily along the seemingly endless fields of dull brown crops, staring distantly at where the darkened sky met the soft curling mountains beyond the horizon.

If he stretched out his hands, he was certain he could reach out and touch them. Touch _home_.

The rainy season of November was beginning to pass, leaving behind a drained and bleached countryside in its wake, as nature itself began to prepare for the far colder season of December which was swirling impendinly on the wind as the first signs of snow began to really make themselves clear between the blistering showers. d'Artagnan's had always seen it as a beautiful time of the year. A time when the only colours against he cold monochrome world being the stark autumnal shades of red and orange that still marked a few of the later trees to shed their leaves. A time where, as a child, his family had began to prepare to celebrate the birth of Christ in the upcoming month, curling up by the fire and sharing stories.

Only now, those fires had encompassed his home entirely and those stories were now nothing more than whispers in the wind.

In the months that had passed, following d'Artagnan earning his comission, the remains of his farm had hardened over, his empty shell of a home singed beyond recognition with the only tell tale signs of what happened there being the stench of smoke which had somehow remained, locked inside the blistered walls.

And suddenly, d'Artagnan's past had burnt away with his home.

_But was that really a bad thing?_

Their mission had been to drop off a parchment to a village a couple of miles south to Lupiac. Initially, d'Artagnan hadn't really noticed the closeness, it was only when Athos broached the idea of visiting his farm on the way back that it finally clicked.

d'Artagnan had been both astonished and inexplicably grateful for his brothers concern and he'd quickly accepted the idea. On one condition.

He'd go alone.

After much convincing and some slight yelling, the three inseperables had agreed to allow their fourth member to go alone, agreeing that they'd wait up for him not far from Lupiac, accepting the Gascons need for some privacy. 

As planned, the boy met his four brothers not far from Lupiac, greeting them with a small, uncharacteristically weak smile. The journey was deathly silent, with both Aramis' and Porthos' attempts at their usual banter falling on deaf ears, as d'Artagnan chose to ride silently beside his mentor.

It was now beginning to get dark, soft pinks and mellow lilacs streaking across the dismal sky as the rain eased slightly and the now unhidden Sun began to sink behind the horizon.

"It's beautiful here." Athos murmured softly, turning his stark blue eyes on his morose protegeé who kept his eyes focused upon the spot between his horse's ears. "Breathtaking, even."

Although Athos would never admit it, the Gascons uncharacteristic silence scared him. No, scratch that, it terrified him. He'd seen himself sink into this deafening inner silence before, after Thomos' murder he feared he'd ever regain the courage to speak again. And he could see the same conflict in the boys distant eyes.

"There's an inn not far from here." The older man continued, turning himself slightly to include the other two. "We should spend the night there and then complete the rest of the journey tomorrow."

Porthos grinned. "No camping?" 

Athos allowed a small smile. "No camping." He nodded.

"Warm food! Clean beds! A roof! Oh, dearest Athos, you are too kind!" Aramis squeaked in dramatic joy, flailing in his saddle and causing Porthos to erupt into his usual booming laughter that shook the very ground beneath their feet.

Athos shook his head with a suppressed grin, said grin falling immediately off his face when his eyes turned back to an ever silent d'Artagnan.

"d'Artagnan?" He hollered, raising an eyebrow softly, quietly willing the boy to speak.

Blinking up blearily at his brother, d'Artagnan submerged from his haze of thoughts and cleared his throat before nodding, not quite yet able to find his voice.

Athos nodded with a half hearted smile and continued to push his horse in the direction of the small inn perched merrily on the hill to their left.

They arrived by the time the sun had fully disappeared and the moon was appearing slowly through the clouded night sky.

d'Artagnan dismounted swiftly and made to take his horse to the stable only to be sgopped by Porthos, who silently took his steeds reins and offered a reassuring smile against the darkness.

Tears prickled in the Gascons eyes and he merely nodded his thanks before taking off after Aramis and Athos, who by now, were already securing a room for the night.

Their room was small and humble, with one king sized bed against the back wall, alongside it there was a brittle night stand, a simple table to the left and three rickety chairs scattered about it, an old blocked up fireplace and one window with a unlit lamp sat beside it.

It wasn't much. But it was enough.

After briefly sharing some if the left over food from their packs- a meal consisting of only bread and some meat (thanks to Porthos' lack of control during the first hours of the mission), which again did nothing to satisfy their stomachs, but did manage to lift their spirits.

_Just a little._

They then fell bavk into their usual routine; stripoing off their clothes until they were left in their nigjt shirts and braise.

Porthos was first to hop into bed, dibsying the left side of the bed and (as usual) resulting in the bed tilting slightly due to his muscle bulk, before he twisted over to lay on his side, and somehow, the bed seemed to rigj itself.

Next was Aramis, who squirmed next to his brother, alligning his back with the mans chest and all but dissapearing into his arms.

This time, however, d'Artagnan was not leaping in beside them and resuming to roll of a cat; patting and stretching and just generally irritaing Aramis before he got comfortable enough to settle down.

_No._

This time, d'Artagnan walked quietly to the edge of the bed, his eyes downcast and still deep in thought, lost in some abyss of grief. Before he dropped back into the far right hand side of the bed and curled in on himself, hiding his face from thw others. Nothing more than a dark silhouette in their moonlit room.

And Athos' fractured heart...fractured again.

Quickly managing to light the lamp with a flint, Athos brought sone light into the room before walking around to d'Artagnan.

Making eye contact with Aramis and Porthos, he nudged the boy over, just enough so that Aramis and Porthos could both grip him by the waist and shoulder, before dragging him across the vast expanse of the bed and mushing him against Aramis' chest.

d'Artagnan gave a sharp yelp of suprise before falling silent again.

And as Athos clambered in beside him, facing the boy as he lay down, he understood why.

d'Artagnan didn't need words. He didn't need fake litanies of comfort or false advice. All he _really_ needed was to know they were there. That they would _always_ be there. 

Wrapping a calloused hand around the boy's shoulder, and further increasing the tangle of bodies, Athos pressed the Gascon's face to his chest. Giving the boy the opportunity to cling to his shirt and weep soundlessly until he fell alseep as Aramis carded a hand through his hair from behind and Porthos rubbed small circles onto his shoulder.

All d'Artagnan needed was to be next to them.

***

 

 


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